


Punk's Not Dead

by aphenglandstan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Gen, I'm so gay for him, Punk England (Hetalia), Punk!England, but that's not the point here, god I love punk england
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphenglandstan/pseuds/aphenglandstan
Summary: Arthur Kirkland's not dead, and neither is punk.





	Punk's Not Dead

Arthur Kirkland was a gentleman. That was what everyone knew him to be, and he was proud of it. Most of the other nations knew about his punk ‘phase’, but just thought that he grew out of it.

As was with most things in Arthur’s life, the expected wasn’t exactly the case.

No-one had ever even asked why his piercing holes had never closed, despite the fact that nations healed even faster than humans. So Arthur didn’t think they’d ever expect him to do what he did any time that he got home from a meeting.

Which was to put his piercings back in, plug his electric guitar into an amp, and play and sing his heart out.

Old school British punk rock was Arthur’s music of choice. Arthur had never strummed a different genre on his guitar in his whole life of owning the worn-out thing. He had fond memories of buying it at a thrift store after his first Sex Pistols concert. Arthur had even fonder memories of the concert.

_The mosh pit, and staring up at the stage with all of the pent-up rage of trying to be perfect. And at that moment, for once, Arthur truly felt like he belonged._

_After the concert finished, Arthur still felt the stars in his eyes from watching. And he immediately ran into the closest thrift store and bought himself his first leather jacket and his first electric guitar. The leather jacket still smelled of the smoke of its last user, but Arthur adored it. ___

__Hm. Arthur remembered that he still owned that leather jacket. He pulled it out of his closet, gently wiping the dust off with his hand before unbuttoning his suit jacket and tossing the restraining, fancy and overpriced thing onto the floor behind him. Then he stomped on the suit jacket once for good measure. If his boss asked what happened, Arthur would simply say that he dropped it and someone stepped on it._ _

__But Arthur didn’t care much about what his bosses thought. In that moment, he felt his teenage rebellion. He felt his rage at everything that being normal stood for. So what if someone didn’t fit the perfect glove of a perfect person. And he felt the weight of being a perfect England- being a perfect Arthur- and the weight of the world that came with fall off of his shoulders as he pulled the old leather jacket on. So what if he was a little bit punk? He looked in the mirror and felt proud of the man that he’d become. No matter how different he acted, he was still Arthur at heart. The same Arthur that stole from corporations and spray painted the walls with anarchist messages._ _

__And he sang to his heart’s content, his fingers falling right into place, where they remembered every chord to be._ _


End file.
